


Shear

by Neyiea



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Gen, Pre-Movie(s), hair cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 23:57:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1245109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neyiea/pseuds/Neyiea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have bills to pay, and Ori isn't so vain as to ignore a chance to earn some money for his family.</p><p>Or:</p><p>The reason why Ori's hair is so much shorter than everyone else's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shear

His apprenticeship is everything he dreamed it would be. It might not seem very dwarf-like to some, the want to sit and write for hours and hours until your fingertips are covered in ink and your back feels sore, but all dwarrows have a particular craft that they enjoy above all others, and writing is Ori's.

He's still a novice, but he's seen a fair amount of improvement in his own work and that had been enough to get him by, at least before he'd grimly realized what the cost of his training was.

It's the little things that catch his attention most. He doesn't wake up to the sound of a kettle every morning, because Dori no longer buys his favourite tea. Nori will stay out later than usual, not coming home until Ori is half asleep and can't make out what his older brothers whisper to each other, only the faint jingle of coins being passed from one hand to another. Once these signs become apparent he can't help but look for more, and his findings make him chew at his lip, shamed that he hadn't noticed before.

His brothers give up so much for him, and it will be years until he actually starts making wages to help out with the cost of living. Until then there is very little he can do.

Except, maybe...

He raises his fingers to his hair only to have his hand smacked away before he can touch the strands.

"Nori, what was that for?" He shakes his hand out somewhat dramatically and Nori snorts at him.

"Have you not seen the state of your hands?"

Ori furrows his eyebrows and glances at his fingertips, blackened with ink.

"But it's dry."

"That won't stop it from rubbing off in your hair," Nori starts nudging him towards their sparse living room, gently commanding him to sit down on a threadbare couch that's probably older than Ori is. "And just imagine the fuss Dori would put up if he knew you got ink in your hair." He settles down next to him before giving a pointed look, and Ori angles himself to be facing away from his brother.

It's a familiar feeling, his brother's nimble hands undoing the intricate braids that Dori plaits every other week. His eldest brother had always been all too happy to help him with his hair when he was younger, and when he began writing the braids had become even smaller and more complicated in an effort to keep the locks as far away from open ink bottles and freshly written words as possible.

Ori closes his eyes and relaxes into the touch.

Nori stills behind him.

"Usually you're squirming to get away by now," he remarks, only somewhat suspicious, "what's got you in such a giving mood?"

"I'm too tired to 'squirm' away." Ori states placidly and Nori gets back to work, peacefully unaware of the way his younger brother's hands are fretfully twisting in his lap.

If he keeps his nerve this could be the last time for a long while that he and his bother can share a moment like this, and even though he's sometimes complained about being old enough to do his own hair now, he knows he's going to miss this.

When his hair is finally loose Nori cards his fingers through it fondly, and Ori's head lulls before he snaps back to wakefulness.

"Guess you weren't joking about being tired after all," Nori comments with a laugh, "think you can wash it on your own without passing out?"

"I can manage."

"That's a good lad." Nori ruffles his hair zealously, laughing again when Ori tries to duck away from his hands. "I've gotta be off, but I imagine Dori will be home by the time you're finished washing." He stands and stretches, calling out one final goodbye before strolling out the door.

Ori gets up, washes his hands, and then begins to wash his hair. 

He takes more time than he usually would, lets his fingers run through the soft, wet strands until he's sure he's memorized the feeling.

His hair is one of the few physical traits he's ever felt particularly proud of. It is long, easy to braid, and the colour is eye-catching.

Like copper in the candlelight, Dori used to say.

He hopes that it is good enough to sell.

It's mostly dry when Dori arrives home. He looks weary, a bit too worn around the edges, but he perks up a bit when he sees that Ori's hair is down.

"Is it that time again already?" He asks aloud, already making his way to where he keeps their mother's hair brushes.

"Not quite," Ori admits, "but I wanted to give it a good wash before I get too swept up in my apprenticeship to bother with it." 

Dori clicks his tongue at that, but keeps any other comments to himself as he settles behind Ori and begins running a fine toothed comb through his hair. Just as he had with Nori, Ori relaxes into the touch more than he usually does, and a smile flits across his face when Dori begins to hum a low, content tune under his breath.

Dori used to tell him stories about Erebor when he was younger; about how their mother would re-work his braids every day, about how he'd first begun learning to weave hair together once Nori's was long enough to style, about how intimate and special these actions were to families, to their entire culture.

About how no one ever cut their hair short, unless to showcase their dishonour. 

But they are not in Erebor, Ori was born long after the dragon had taken it over, and they have bills to pay. 

His sentimentality takes a turn when Dori actually begins braiding, and it isn't long before he feels his eyes grow suspiciously wet.

It's just hair, he tells himself, it will grow back. This won't be the last time Dori plaits it for him.

But it will be a long time, years and years, before it gets to a proper length again.

He wrings his hands together, wishing that he didn't care so much about it. It seems like such a frivolous thing, really, and he's already made up his mind to do it.

It will all be worth it in the end, he's sure of it.

He takes a deep breath and allows his eyes to flutter closed, and when he exhales his apprehension flows out as well.

When Dori is finished he presses a quick kiss to the crown of Ori's head, making an amused sound in the back of his throat when Ori doesn't swat at him for the affectionate gesture.

"I'll start making dinner then, shall I?" He fusses with the ties in Ori's hair for a second more before pulling back.

"Dori."

"Hm?"

"Thank you," Ori murmurs, lightly trailing a finger over one of the interwoven strands, "for always helping me with it."

Dori's eyes soften. "Anytime."

He's quiet throughout dinner and slips off to bed early, claiming exhaustion to be the cause of his passivity. He settles under his blankets, resolve still thankfully firm, and vows to get up early tomorrow morning.

Imagining the look on Balin's face when he shows up at his apprenticeship with his hair all chopped off is enough to make him chortle into his pillow.

In the morning he will sell his hair, and in the evening his brothers will find out. They'll kick up a fuss, he's sure. Nori will probably get angry and want to break the fingers of whoever dared to use scissors on him, Dori will probably go into mourning and wish he could turn back time so that he could talk his brother out of it, and Ori...

Ori doesn't think he'll regret it at all.


End file.
